


What Friends Are For

by dreamsofspike



Category: Being Human
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike





	1. Chapter 1

“I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn’t find this.”

 

Mitchell spun around to face the doorway of the room where he had discovered the huddled human prisoners and found himself face to face with Herrick. The older vampire bore a rueful smile of resignation as he took in the scene. The calm, careless tone of Herrick’s voice only served to intensify Mitchell’s outrage and anger at what he’d just found.

 

“‘No one gets left behind’, eh? Would you mind explaining this to me?”

 

On some level he was aware that he was in a very dangerous position here – sorely outnumbered and on the wrong side of this particular battle – and yet he couldn’t keep the furious accusation from his tone.

 

“Everyone has their part to play,” Herrick acknowledged with a slow nod as he took several measured steps nearer to Mitchell, revealing a couple of other vampires who followed him into the room. “No one ever said everyone’s part would be exactly the same.”

 

“And what _part_ would you say that these people are supposed to play?” Mitchell demanded, his voice trembling with indignant rage. “What, they’re just your… your ready and available _food supply_?”

 

Herrick shrugged carelessly, his blue eyes glittering with malicious amusement as he replied. “We’ve got to _eat_ , Mitchell. We couldn’t turn _everyone_. If we all were vampires, well – life wouldn’t be any fun for anyone anymore, now, would it?” His cruel smile faded into a more serious expression as he regarded Mitchell thoughtfully and added, “I never said everyone’s part was a pleasant one.”

 

The two large vampires flanking Herrick moved out to the sides, effectively blocking any escape from the room. Warning bells began to sound in the back of Mitchell’s mind, breaking through the anger to alert him to the fact that the helpless humans whom he was championing might not be the only ones in danger at the moment. Herrick noticed his wary glance toward the other vamps and let out a heavy sigh, his voice soft and resigned when he spoke again.

 

“I _had_ hoped that _you_ might have played a better part in all of this, Mitchell. Really… I’m disappointed.”

 

Mitchell swallowed hard as he took an instinctive step backward, his dark eyes darting warily between the two vampires, watching for any sign of impending attack. He was still worried about these sickly, weak humans, and didn’t want to leave them there at the mercy of the other vampires; but he also knew that there was no way he could help them if he became a victim himself.

 

“There’s no reason for this to get ugly.” He kept his voice calm and even, trying not to betray any fear as he turned his cautious gaze on Herrick again. “If this is what you want to do, I know better than to think I can stop you – but I don’t want to be a part of it. So I’ll just be on my way…”

 

“No, I’m sorry, Mitchell,” Herrick sighed, “but you won’t. You think you can just hop in and out of this as if it was a child’s game? It doesn’t work that way.” He paused before clarifying in a tone of genuine regret. “I can’t simply let you walk out of here. What kind of a message would that send to the others? You’re either in or out, Mitchell…”

 

He held up a halting hand as Mitchell opened his mouth to speak.

 

“… and I’m not asking you which. You’ve already made that quite clear.”

 

As if in response to some unspoken signal from their employer, the vampire muscle suddenly went into action, closing in on Mitchell from both sides at once. Mitchell tried to fight them off, extending his fangs and attacking with his fists as well – but it really wasn’t much of a fight. Within minutes they had his hands pinned behind his back, and one strong arm wrapped around his throat, effectively preventing him from struggling any further.

 

“What?” Mitchell snarled in disgust and defiance, trying in vain to pull free of his captors. “I don’t want to help you murder innocent people, so you’re going to have _me_ killed now?”

 

“I’m sorry about this, Mitchell,” Herrick repeated, starting toward the door, calling over his shoulder as his employees dragged Mitchell along in his wake. “But you haven’t left me much of a choice. Although I’m not going to _have_ you killed,” he amended matter-of-factly, turning to meet Mitchell’s eyes for a moment as he led the way down the hall to a room a few doors down. “When that time comes, you’ve at least earned the right for me to do it myself.”

 

They paused outside the door while Herrick unlocked it, then dragged Mitchell inside. He immediately noticed that it was empty, unfurnished, except for a thin mat placed beneath a set of iron shackles that was fastened to the wall. Mitchell tried uselessly to free himself of the grasp of his captors as they led him across the room, forced him down onto his knees on the mat and fastened his wrists into the shackles.

 

“Now, you’d do well to make this easier on yourself, Mitchell – and don’t struggle. I’ve got a lot to do in the next few days, and I don’t have time to deal with you now, so it seems you’ve got a bit of time to kill.” A cold smile graced Herrick’s lips as he stopped near the doorway, followed by his henchmen. “If you keep quiet and don’t draw attention to yourself, you should be all right until then – but I can make no guarantees.” He shared a wink of malicious amusement with his men as he added, “I won’t be around to keep the others in line… and once word gets out of your immense failure, Mitchell… there won’t be self-respecting vampire in Bristol who won’t want to get a piece of _you_."


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay… don’t freak out… don’t freak out… I’m going to get out of this… somehow…_

 

Mitchell bit back a frustrated groan as he tested the chains that bound him again. He had already tried to pull free countless times in the last few hours, without the slightest success. The chains were designed to withstand the superhuman strength of a vampire, and did not give at all.

 

 _… but every minute I’m stuck here is another minute that Herrick’s out there… and he said he had things to do. What things?_

 

Mitchell’s troubled thoughts turned to George and Annie, and he felt a fresh sense of panic overcome him, yanking instinctively against the chains with a snarl of frantic frustration as they jerked him back against the wall behind him.

 

 _What if he sends someone to hurt them? Or goes after them himself while I’m here and can’t do a single thing to protect them?_

 

His thoughts tormented him as he waited in agonizing solitude, with nothing to alleviate his fears or distract him from his disconcerting thoughts. Herrick’s parting warning made him reluctant to call out at all – not that doing so would have done him any good. There was no one near enough to hear him but the human prisoners, and other vampires who would have no interest in helping him.

 

He shuddered as he thought of Herrick’s words, and wondered if perhaps he should be grateful for the solitude while it lasted.

 

It didn’t last long.

 

*************************

 

“My, look how Herrick’s golden boy has fallen!” Seth crowed, the words nearly drowned out by the echoing bang of the door against the stone wall.

 

Mitchell started out of the light, fitful sleep into which he had fallen out of sheer boredom, after many solitary hours in his makeshift prison. He blinked against the light that filled the doorway behind Seth, leaving his face and form in shadow, his identity only revealed by the painfully familiar sound of his voice.

 

“Things’ve changed quickly, haven’t they, Mitchell?” Seth continued in a gleefully taunting voice as he slowly closed the distance between them. “And your future looked so promising until…” He glanced down at his watch for dramatic effect before continuing, “… just a few hours ago.”

 

Seth crouched in front of Mitchell, smiling with amusement as Mitchell strained toward him in defiant challenge, his fangs bared in a wordless warning. His voice softened as he gave Mitchell a derisive look and went on, completely unthreatened by Mitchell’s defiant gesture.

 

“You would have been a leader in our movement, Mitchell. You were supposed to be the shining light for us all…”

 

“I’d rather be here than have anything to do with the murderous lot of you!” Mitchell declared, his voice trembling with rage. “Being a prisoner here – even dying – has got to be better than taking part in this nightmarish scheme of Herrick’s.”

 

“Really, Mitchell?” Seth stood up straight, looking down on the kneeling prisoner with a gloating grin. “You’d rather be a… a plaything… a _toy_ on which Herrick’s team vent their frustrations… than a member of that team?”

 

Mitchell felt an apprehensive shiver go down his spine at those words, and he tensed, preparing for the pain promised by Seth’s cold tone. He knew the lesser vampire had always resented the special position in which Herrick placed him. Seth had always considered himself to be more worthy of Herrick’s favor, by sheer virtue of his loyalty and the long hours he put in, in Herrick’s service, while Mitchell had only recently decided to join their movement.

 

He could only imagine what Seth wanted to do to him now – now that he was bound and kneeling and helpless.

 

A vicious kick to his face ended his wary contemplation, as an explosion of pain rocked him back, his head slamming painfully against the stone wall behind him. Seth let out a gleeful, self-satisfied laugh as he followed up that kick with another to Mitchell’s stomach that knocked the unnecessary breath from his lungs and doubled him over in pain.

 

Furious frustration mingled with his pain as Mitchell seethed in helpless rage, well aware that had he been free, there was no way that Seth could have taken him. As it was, however, his hands were chained behind him and there was no way that he could hope to defend himself. Seth vented his own frustrations with blow after vicious blow, leaving Mitchell dizzy and bleeding, struggling to remain upright against an overwhelming sense of nausea and vertigo.

 

Once Mitchell was dazed and disoriented, Seth crouched in front of him again, grasping his hair and jerking his head to the side to expose his throat. Mitchell tried to pull away but couldn’t as the younger vampire snarled, extending his fangs an instant before plunging them through Mitchell’s skin. Mitchell let out a hoarse cry of outrage and pain as yet more of his strength was stolen from him, pulled from his veins by his eager tormenter.

 

When Seth finally withdrew with a low, exultant laugh, Mitchell collapsed back against the wall, struggling not to black out from the loss of blood and the many blows he had taken. He gasped for breath in an instinctive reaction to the overwhelming weakness he felt, eyes closed as he struggled to recover from the assault he had endured.

 

Seth rose to his feet, grinning down at Mitchell in satisfaction for a long moment, taking in and enjoying the damage he had wrought. He waited until the other vampire looked up at him through wary, dark eyes touched with more fear than Mitchell would have liked to reveal to speak again, his voice soft and filled with sadistic anticipation.

 

“So you prefer this, then, do you, Mitchell? We’ll see how you feel after you’ve been here a few days.”

 

He headed toward the door, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the floor, and Mitchell despised himself for the pathetic sense of relief he felt at his retreat. At the door, Seth paused, the handle in his hand as he turned back to give Mitchell one final look, cruel pleasure in his eyes as he caught his gaze and asked a chilling question.

 

“Shall I send the next one in?"


	3. Chapter 3

One by one, over the next several hours, Herrick’s top men made their way into the tiny cell where Mitchell was being kept. It soon became obvious that Seth’s bitterness and resentment toward him was a fair indication of how most of the vampires felt. He’d distanced himself from them for so long, tried to be so much better than them, only to join the movement at the last minute. When word got out that he’d decided to back out again, and was no longer under Herrick’s protection, many of them found that to be simply too enticing a prospect to pass up.

 

The first two took out their frustrations in much the same way as Seth had done, hurling kicks and blows in his direction while ranting about how foolish and pathetic he was, how stupid he’d been to pass up such a tremendous opportunity, and how he’d never deserved that opportunity in the first place. Before they left, they tore into his throat, draining him of his blood as an added indignity.

 

By the time the second one left, Mitchell’s head was spinning as he struggled to cling to consciousness, dizzied and disoriented from blood loss and the numerous blows he’d taken to the head – among other places. He fought to pull himself back up into a seated position, his weakened arms giving out beneath him a couple of times before he managed to lean back against the wall, gasping for breath.

 

His heart sank, his stomach clenched with fear when he heard the door crash against the wall yet again, and another vampire sauntered into the room. Mitchell closed his eyes, trying to steel himself for yet another round of abuse, though by this point, he was starting to wonder how much more he could take.

 

Several long moments passed in total silence and Mitchell finally opened his eyes, blinking against the darkness as he focused on the face of his most recent visitor. It was unnerving, the way this stranger was staring down at him through narrowed, speculative eyes, a thoughtful half-smile on his lips.

 

“Well?” Mitchell winced at the hoarse sound of his own voice, which served to pretty much negate the tone of defiance he’d been going for. “Aren’t you going to take your turn? Why don’t you get a move on and get it over with?”

 

The stranger’s smile widened with amusement as he crouched in front of Mitchell, just out of his reach – _as if I could do anything if I tried, anyway!_ – studying him with an intensity that Mitchell found deeply unsettling. When he spoke, his voice was soft and deceptively friendly.

 

“Oh, I’m going to. But I’m not going to waste this rare opportunity on a half-conscious corpse, Mitchell. I’m going to wait until you’re aware enough to… fully appreciate what I’m going to do to you.”

 

Something in the other vampire’s tone sent a sick shiver of apprehension down Mitchell’s spine, and he instinctively drew back against the wall behind him, warily watching the other vampire for any sign that he was about to strike. He froze, tensing in preparation as the vampire extended his fangs, his eyes going black – but all he did was tear a deep, jagged cut across his own wrist. Mitchell’s eyes widened in confusion and surprise when that wrist was then extended to him in a dubious offering.

 

“Go ahead,” the vampire urged him with an encouraging nod. “Drink up. It’ll help you regain your strength.” He paused, his tone lowering, his smile becoming nasty. “You’re going to need it.”

 

The ominous undercurrent of his words was enough to make Mitchell want to refuse the offered blood – but instinct was crying out within him, overwhelming logic and good sense, screaming at him that nothing, _nothing_ was more important than his desperate thirst for blood.

 

“Go on…” The stranger’s voice was low and enticing, and Mitchell found that he could hardly distinguish between it and the voice in his head that was echoing the same tempting words. “ _Drink_.”

 

Before he could think to stop himself, Mitchell had latched onto the other vampire’s arm, fangs digging in deep and drawing in long, desperate draughts of blood. The other vampire let out a soft moan of mingled pleasure and pain, breathing hard as Mitchell drank in the strength and rejuvenation his battered, weakened body craved.

 

With a greater effort than either of them had anticipated would be necessary, the other vampire finally wrenched his bloodied arm free, laughing a bit giddily as he tore a piece of his own shirt free and wrapped it hurriedly around the wound.

 

“Guess you had a bit more fight left in you than I thought,” he mused, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face. He looked down to meet Mitchell’s eyes and Mitchell froze, suddenly terrified by the expression he read there. “That’s going to make things… a _lot_ more interesting.”

 

The vampire stood up straight, taking in Mitchell’s bound, kneeling form, as if trying to decide how best to approach – whatever it was he intended to do. Mitchell was fairly certain he didn’t want to know.

 

Not that he had a choice.

 

But somehow, he hadn’t imagined what this vampire actually had in mind. When his attacker suddenly grabbed his legs and flipped him over so that he was lying facedown on the mat beneath him, Mitchell’s stomach did an awful flip, as he suddenly realized what was about to happen. He struggled violently, though it was a losing battle with his hands chained to the wall.

 

Panic seized him when he felt hands deftly working the button and zipper at the front of his jeans, jerking them over his hips and down until they were around his ankles.

 

“ _No_!” he cried out in furious outrage and fear, desperately trying to pull free as the other vampire wrapped his jeans around his ankles, effectively immobilizing him. “No, _don’t_!”

 

“Shhh…”

 

Mitchell shuddered as he felt slow, leisurely hands trailing their way over his bare thighs, struggling uselessly to escape the invasive touch. The other vampire rose up over him, speaking softly into his ear, without letting up his casually suggestive and utterly unwelcome caresses.

 

“I knew you were a pretty one,” he murmured. “But I had no idea just how much… just how much fun this is going to be. I’m _really_ going to enjoy this…”


	4. Chapter 4

Mitchell could not remember the last time he had felt so utterly helpless.

 

He was flat on his stomach, trapped under the bulk of the larger vampire, his hands bound to the wall behind his back and over his head, twisted at an awkward, painful angle due to the uncomfortable position of his body. He was weak from blood loss and the abuse he’d already endured at the hands of his other tormentors. Despite the blood the other vampire had given him just to ensure he was conscious, he was still nowhere near strong enough to fight off his attacker.

 

The sensation of cool breath on the back of his neck made him shudder with horrified revulsion at the reminder of what was about to happen. Fingers that were torturously slow, yet possessive and grasping, dragged over the exposed skin of Mitchell’s thighs, up to his hips. Mitchell flinched, struggling to pull away as an invasive hand slid around, roughly exploring his genitals, while the other hand slid a sharp fingernail slowly down the cleft of his ass.

 

“So pretty…” the vampire hissed in his ear, with a malicious smirk that Mitchell could feel against his skin. The soft laugh of quiet exultation that followed made him feel sick, violated and humiliated. “… and all mine for the next hour.”

 

“Don’t… don’t do this… You don’t have to do this…”

 

Mitchell’s voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as deeply as the rest of him. He hated himself for begging, but he had no other options at the moment, and this could not – _could not_ – happen.

 

 _Please… please, no… not this,_ anything _but this…_

 

“Let’s see… that’s a long while yet…”

 

The vampire spoke thoughtfully to himself, ignoring Mitchell’s quiet plea, which only served to make him feel even more violated and degraded – as if he was nothing more than an object for his captor’s pleasure, and his desperate words nothing more than useless noise.

 

“… whatever will I do to pass the time?”

 

Mitchell felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as the vampire behind him extended his fangs. A moment later, he bit back a cry of agony as he felt razor-sharp fangs slicing through the skin on his back. His captor laughed – a low, chilling sound of cruel pleasure – as he drew his fingernail slowly down the length of the cut he’d made, deliberately aggravating it and enjoying it as Mitchell writhed beneath him in a vain attempt to escape the added pain.

 

The sadist continued tormenting him, using fangs and nails to cut jagged patterns in his bare skin, until the blood ran in thin streams onto the cold stone floor beneath them. The entire time he talked to him, murmuring cruel, degrading words, reminding Mitchell of every way in which he was a failure and a disappointment – and not even man enough to protect himself from this savage violation.

 

Throughout it all Mitchell tried to retain some shred of his pride, fighting not to allow his suffering to show – but it was a losing battle. He was shaking violently, biting down on his lip until it bled to keep from screaming, repeating over and over in his mind that he just had to get through it… just had to wait it out… and it would eventually be over.

 

And that was before his captor even reached his ultimate intention.

 

Mitchell tried again to pull away, though his heart sank with the knowledge that it was useless. When he felt the vampire’s fingers spreading him open, smoothing some of his own blood onto him as a weak form of lubrication that he was certain would not be sufficient, Mitchell’s entire body went taut with terror. His mind seemed to freeze, refusing to process what was happening.

 

And then all there was, was searing agony tearing through his body as the vampire entered him, brutally using him and reminding him with every savage thrust of how low he had sunk – how helpless and pathetic he really was. After what seemed like an eternity, the vampire finally achieved his release and withdrew – leaving Mitchell in a trembling, broken heap on the floor.

 

He was no longer struggling – no longer felt able to move at all. He just lay there, a fine tremor running through his body, eyes wide and staring in shocked, numb horror toward the floor beneath him. Through it all, a sort of despairing relief filled his mind with the single coherent thought he could form.

 

 _It’s over… at least it’s over…_

 

Cold dread filled him as the vampire grabbed him and forced him up onto his knees, slamming him back against the wall with a hard hand clenched around his throat. Mitchell groaned in pain at the rough shifting of his battered body, as his captor leaned in close to his face.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Mitchell shook his head rapidly; his eyes seemed to be glued to the floor, unable to meet the gaze of the creature that had so thoroughly violated and humiliated him. The vampire shrugged, his smirk audible in his voice when he went on with suggestive menace.

 

“Or we could… go another round…”

 

Mitchell’s wide, panicked eyes shot up to meet the other vampire’s, and he swallowed hard, his mouth dry with terror.

 

“That’s better.” The vampire studied Mitchell’s expression, drinking in his horrified reaction as he went on speaking. “I wanted you to know… I talked to Herrick a little while ago… and he’s decided to keep you alive a bit longer. Said you’re good stress relief for the most loyal of his followers.”

 

The cruel smile widened in reaction to the despair clearly visible in Mitchell’s dark, expressive eyes.

 

“And… I _really_ enjoyed this,” the vampire confessed in a hushed, conspiratorial tone, his thumb running along Mitchell’s jaw in a parody of affection. He leaned in for a brutal, dominating kiss, forcing his tongue past the yielding barrier of Mitchell’s trembling lips, violating his mouth as he had violated the rest of his body. He drew back to issue a threatening promise in his ear, leaving Mitchell’s head spinning and his stomach clenching with fear and despair at the words.

 

“I’ll be back. _Soon_."


	5. Chapter 5

Three days and nights passed in a haze of unending agony and degradation.

 

Mitchell was rarely left alone in his cold, stone cell; but when he was, his thoughts were haunted by nightmare images of the things that had been done to him, would be done to him again – and the unknown fate that might already have befallen his friends, without him there to defend them.

 

 _Get over yourself,_ he mentally sneered at himself. _You clearly couldn’t defend_ yourself, _let alone your friends._

 

He tried not to think about what Herrick and the others might have done to George and Annie, but there wasn’t much to distract him besides the overwhelming pain and humiliation of his own situation. He grew weaker with each passing day as the vampires that stopped by to take their pleasure in victimizing him drew blood from his veins, only returning enough of it to keep him conscious and aware.

 

 _It’d spoil the fun if they let me sleep through it. And_ that _wouldn’t do, now, would it?_

 

Mitchell flinched as the steel door opened again with an echoing clang against the stone wall. His body tensed with dreadful apprehension, and he didn’t bother to look up at the sound of slow, measured footsteps approaching. He didn’t care to see who was next in the never-ending line of vampires seeking their pound of flesh from Herrick’s fallen golden boy.

 

“Oh, Mitchell… my boy, what have you done to yourself?”

 

Mitchell’s dark eyes snapped up immediately at the sound of the familiar voice, the voice of the only one who had the power to grant him mercy, to spare his life – or his friends’ lives.

 

Herrick.

 

“Look what you’ve sunk to, Mitchell!” Herrick’s voice was mildly reproving, as if he was a small child being scolded for playing in the mud. “And it didn’t have to be like this. You could have _gone_ places, Mitchell! _Been_ someone!”

 

“Yeah,” Mitchell rasped out in a voice hoarse with pain and thirst. “Someone I don’t want to be. I’d rather be here than be what you planned for me to be.”

 

The affection drained from Herrick’s eyes in an instant, as he crouched in front of the bound, kneeling captive, facing Mitchell at eye level, his mouth twisted into a grim, menacing snarl.

 

“I don’t believe it’s in your best interest to anger me right now, Mitchell,” he warned, his voice soft and deadly. “The power over your life or death is in my hands – as well as other matters of some importance to you. I should think you’d be trying to regain my favor, rather than trying to goad me like this.”

 

“I’m not,” Mitchell insisted, trying to keep his voice steady in the face of his tormentor’s menacing nearness; but his eyes were downcast, and he found that as much as wanted to, he couldn’t seem to raise them. “Not goading you, just… stating the truth. I’d rather die…”

 

“You know that _can_ be arranged, Mitchell,” Herrick softly reminded him.

 

Mitchell flinched as he felt the gentle brush of the back of Herrick’s hand against his cheek, drawing away from the invasively intimate touch in revulsion. He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain control over his own emotions and reactions. His voice was barely over a whisper when at last he spoke again.

 

“Just kill me. Just be done with it already and _kill me_.”

 

Herrick let out a harsh laugh as he rose abruptly to his feet again, a cold smirk on his lips. “And take away the one benefit of this life that you have left?” he retorted incredulously. “Why no, Mitchell! You get to live forever!”

 

Herrick’s footsteps echoed on the stone as he walked away in silence and left Mitchell to his own despairing thoughts.

 

**************************

 

“I wonder where he’s gone.”

 

Annie’s quiet remark broke a nearly impenetrable silence that seemed to have fallen over the apartment since the last time Mitchell had been there, mildly broaching the tender topic that both of them seemed intent on avoiding – until now.

 

George looked up at her sharply from the magazine he was pretending to read, before glancing down again, apparently not ready to engage the painful subject. Annie frowned, her lower lip jutting out stubbornly; unfortunately for George, she was tired of skirting the issue.

 

“Don’t pretend you haven’t wondered,” she persisted. “We haven’t heard from him in days. We’re his best friends; he should at least ring to let us know he’s all right.”

 

George’s expression was flat, guarded, as was his tone when he replied, “Mitchell’s made _new_ friends now.”

 

Annie was quiet for a few moments, subdued by his words. They hadn’t dared discuss it since Mitchell’s rather shocking admission that he had rejoined Herrick’s movement; but both had assumed when he had not come home the following night that he had simply chosen his new-found vampire comrades over his two misfit friends. It was the most logical explanation, really – though it was the most painful as well.

 

Still, Annie couldn’t shake the nagging sensation that something was even more wrong than they already knew it was. Her voice was soft, stubbornly pensive, when she finally replied to George’s cold, quietly resentful words.

 

“We both know they’re not his friends.”

 

George tried to act as if he hadn’t heard her, but it didn’t last longer than a few seconds before he laid his magazine down with an exasperated sigh, looking up to meet her gaze with troubled eyes.

 

“What’re you saying, Annie?” he asked with weary frustration.

 

“I’m saying… we can’t know for certain if he hasn’t contacted us… because he hasn’t _wanted_ to contact us...”

 

“They way he left, I’m not surprised that he hasn’t,” George argued, defeat in his voice. “He knows what we think of his decision. Can’t see why he’d want to face us, after…” He shook his head, swallowing hard as he closed his eyes for a moment. His voice was gentler when he continued. “He’s made his choice… and it’s not us, Annie.”

 

Annie was silent for a long moment, her dark eyes full of tears when she finally looked up to meet George’s eyes again. Her low, intent voice cut through his hurt and resentment with an icy knife of apprehension and concern.

 

“George… what if he didn’t _have_ a choice?"


	6. Chapter 6

George tried very hard not to miss his friend.

 

After all, Mitchell had chosen to abandon him and Annie, leaving them not only missing him, but also vulnerable to attack from the ever-more-aggressive vampire population of the city. Although he tried not to alarm Annie by mentioning it, George was painfully aware of that particular implication of Mitchell’s choice. Still, he tried not to think about it, tried to pretend that he didn’t care that Mitchell was gone.

 

It was hardest at work.

 

It just wasn’t the same without Mitchell there. George guessed that he had simply quit his job, because he hadn’t been there at all since he’d admitted to George and Annie that he had rejoined his vampire family. Whether or not he was working somewhere else, George could only guess; he supposed Mitchell was too uncomfortable or ashamed to continue working with him every day.

 

 _And he rightfully should be… he deserted us. I really don’t care_ what _happens to him. For all I care, he can just…_

 

George’s thoughts broke off as he glanced up and happened to see Herrick walking into the cafeteria where he was sitting, pretending to eat his lunch. When Herrick turned and caught his eye, George quickly looked away, not wanting to initiate any kind of contact with the creepy little vampire.

 

It was too late.

 

“Well, fancy running into you here,” Herrick sneered as he reached George’s table and took a seat as if he’d been invited. “How’s Mitchell’s little pet doggie these days?”

 

George avoided eye contact, trying his best to control the instinctive fear that always seemed to come over him in Herrick’s presence. He gave himself credit for the fact that his voice only trembled slightly as he quietly retorted, “I know you don’t actually care to know. If you’re asking for Mitchell, tell him if _he_ cares to know he should come and ask me himself.”

 

“Smart lad you are, aren’t you?” Herrick laughed coldly, shaking his head. “You’re right. I _don’t_ care – but I’m not asking for Mitchell, either. In fact…” Herrick’s face took on a frown of false concern. “… Mitchell hasn’t mentioned you at all.” He shrugged slightly as he rose to his feet. “I suppose he must have bigger concerns at the moment than the little stray he once took in.”

 

As Herrick turned and sauntered away, George watched him go, replaying his words in his head. Something about them didn’t seem quite right, especially in combination with the smug, knowing look in Herrick’s eyes as he had spoken. George tried to put it out of his head as he went about his work, but he found that it was impossible.

 

By the time he headed home that evening, George had decided.

 

He needed to talk to Annie.

 

It could be that Mitchell didn’t want to hear from them – didn’t want to have anything to do with either of them anymore – but for the moment, that didn’t matter. George knew that they had to track Mitchell down one last time, whether he wanted it or not – just to put to rest the unsettled, disturbing thoughts the encounter with Herrick had placed in his mind.

 

**********************

 

Mitchell was shivering on the cold stone floor, his arms wrapped around his bare torso in a vain attempt to shield his battered body. He was far too weak and injured now for his captors to worry about keeping his hands bound. He was chained to the wall by one ankle, but besides that, his limbs were free.

 

It didn’t make much difference; there wasn’t much he could do to resist at this point, anyway.

 

His body was covered with various burns, cuts, and bruises from the torturous games the other vampires had played with him over the course of the last few days. He’d had only minimal blood, just enough to keep him conscious, and was beginning to find it difficult to focus, his mind hazy and confused with pain and weakness.

 

Still, he was aware enough to be alarmed when he heard the door of his cell opening. Mitchell flinched back against the wall behind him as footsteps echoed on the floor, daring a glance upward to see who it was this time.

 

He felt a twisted sense of mingled relief and dread to see that it was Herrick. Since he had been imprisoned here, Herrick had barely touched him – certainly not lowering himself to the level of his savage underlings. And yet, somehow, the knowledge of how low he had fallen in the eyes of the one who had once been his mentor was humiliating to Mitchell. Herrick had a way of getting into his head that none of the others had yet managed to accomplish.

 

Mitchell tried to shut down, to shut out whatever hurtful, piercing words Herrick might speak to him.

 

“I saw your little friend today.”

 

That was the last thing Mitchell had expected Herrick to say, and possibly the only thing he could not ignore.

 

His gaze snapped up, wide eyes locking onto Herrick’s face in alarm. His voice was hoarse with disuse as he demanded, “What have you done to him? Don’t you dare _touch_ him…!”

 

A harsh slap across his face knocked Mitchell backward again, as Herrick crouched close beside him, crystal blue eyes cold as ice as he gave Mitchell a tight, unpleasant smile and issued a soft, deadly order.

 

“Silence, my boy… I’m in a surprisingly good mood at the moment; you wouldn’t want to spoil that.”

 

“Please…” Mitchell’s voice broke over the desperate word. He knew Herrick didn’t want him to speak, but he couldn’t help it. “Please… don’t hurt them… please…”

 

Herrick let out a weary sigh, his anger seeming to fade somewhat in the face of Mitchell’s pleading desperation. “Relax, Mitchell. I haven’t touched the wolf. _Yet_.”

 

Mitchell’s shoulders fell with relief, and he lowered his head, drawing in several soft, shuddering breaths to steady himself.

 

“Funny thing, though,” Herrick continued softly, and Mitchell froze, unsure what he was going to say. “He knows we know each other, Mitchell, doesn’t he? Knows that if anyone has seen you lately… it’d be me. I would have thought he’d at least _ask_ about you… wouldn’t you?”

 

Mitchell remained still, his eyes lowered, trying not to betray how badly those words stung. Had he really made his friends angry enough with him to forget about him completely, and simply abandon him to whatever fate might happen to befall him? He had hoped that they would not attempt to rescue him, and get themselves hurt in the process; still, it hurt to think that they didn’t even wonder where he might have gone.

 

“I suppose that means you are completely forgotten by the outside world at this point, aren’t you, Mitchell?” Herrick mused, a cruel note of amusement to his voice. “No one cares whether or not you exist… except those of us taking part in your destruction.”

 

He rose to his feet and walked away, leaving Mitchell to the despair of loneliness that came with knowing that absolutely no one was looking for him.

 

He was completely and utterly alone.


	7. Chapter 7

“I think Mitchell’s in trouble.”

 

George strode through the front door, making his announcement in lieu of an actual greeting, solemn dark eyes meeting Annie’s with a worried expression on his face. Annie raised a single brow in his direction, her mouth pursed with annoyance, her tone flat and subtly mocking.

 

“Really. Just now. You’ve just happened upon this bloody… _revelation_?”

 

“He’s an adult, Annie; he can make his own choices, and how was I to know that he hadn’t just taken off on his own without… saying goodbye, or… telling us, or…” George’s sputtering explanation died off into a despairing sigh as he sank onto the sofa, covering his face with one hand. “You’re right, I’m an utter failure as a friend.”

 

Annie was quiet for a moment as she moved to sit next to him, resting a tentative hand on his knee in awkward comfort. “So am I,” she softly confessed. “I could have… insisted more adamantly…” She frowned, troubled, as she turned the conversation back to more important matters than their own guilt. “What made you think he’s in trouble? Did something happen?”

 

“Talked to Herrick at the hospital today. There wasn’t much I could put my finger on, but… just a feeling. Something about his tone, the words he chose… I don’t think Mitchell’s back with them by choice.”

 

*****************************

 

A few minutes of flustered, uncertain preparation later, George and Annie made their way bravely but cluelessly into the belly of the beast – the funeral parlor that was the vampires’ unofficial headquarters. They stepped into the waiting room, glancing around with wary, guarded relief to find that the room was empty.

 

Mostly.

 

“Well, isn’t this just precious! Mitchell’s little doggie’s gone and followed him home.”

 

“Where is he?” George demanded, proud of himself for not acknowledging Seth’s jibe, and only revealing a trace of a tremor in his voice. “Where _is_ Mitchell?”

 

“That’s a difficult question…” Seth pretended to ponder the answer, a cruel smirk playing about the corners of his mouth. “I know where he was a few hours ago. At this point, though… ‘s hard to say. Might be where I left him…” Seth’s eyes turned black as coal, his fangs extending as he readied himself to strike. “… might already be making himself at home in hell…”

 

As Seth lunged at George, Annie extended her hand, with a gust of wind moving the desk so that it blocked the vampire’s path, and he stumbled over it. George took the opportunity to punch Seth in the face, dazing him, before Annie followed up her first rather impressive display by sending Seth himself flying into the far wall, where he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

 

George looked on in awe, staring back and forth between Annie and the incapacitated vampire. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

 

Annie shrugged, giving him a self-conscious smile. “Neither did I.”

 

They rushed through the outer rooms of the building, making their way down into the basement – the most logical place to keep anyone being held prisoner. And indeed, within minutes they had found prisoners, though not the one they sought. They stood just inside the doorway of the room where the human captives were kept, looking on in horrified disbelief at the dirty, starving, half-naked people who looked up at them with eyes filled with dull dread.

 

There was, of course, only one thing they could do.

 

Annie and George hurriedly set about loosing their bonds, setting them free so that they could escape – but as they did, asking each one about Mitchell. George described him to a young woman as she rubbed her raw, chafed wrists, giving her a hopeful look.

 

“He was here.” She nodded. “About a week ago. He… he tried to help us, but… but I think they took him. I think he’s… being held down here somewhere. I’m not sure which room, but… I’m pretty sure he’s down here. Some of the other… v-vampires… they talk, when they’re here…”

 

She struggled over the words especially “vampire” – as if she still couldn’t quite bring herself to accept the reality of her recent experience. George nodded sympathetically, placing a reassuring hand on her arm briefly.

 

“Thanks. Now go on, get out of here with the others.”

 

Once the room was empty, George and Annie made their way down the hall, checking every door they passed.

 

************************

 

Mitchell huddled in the corner of his dark prison, his chained wrists crossed over his knees, which were drawn up against his chest. He shivered with cold and shock, staring at the wall across from him with wide, dull eyes – nearly catatonic after a full week of almost unceasing torture and violation.

 

But he didn’t know that.

 

He no longer knew how long he had been there; he no longer cared.

 

He knew there was no hope of escape, no rescue coming.

 

The door to his cell opened with a loud bang, and he flinched, not looking up – not wanting to see who was the next in the never-ending line of his tormenters. It didn’t make any difference, anyway. Dread seized him as he heard two hurried sets of footsteps crossing the stone floor toward him.

 

It was always so much worse when there was more than one of them.

 

Mitchell flinched as they neared him, cringing from their reaching hands – but then froze, stunned, when he realized that the hand that touched him was _warm_. He forced himself to look up, barely daring to hope – until he heard the soft, familiar voice, trembling with tearful dismay.

 

“ _Mitchell_?”

 

 _George._

 __

Mitchell would have wept with relief, had he had the strength left to do so. As it was, his weak, trembling hands grasped at George’s arm, clinging to him as if to somehow convince himself that he was real, and not a figment of his own desperate mind. A moment later, Annie came into his line of vision, crouching beside him with a look of such stricken pity in her eyes that he had to look away.

 

“It’s okay,” she murmured, tears streaking her face as she reached out a hand to brush lightly against his arm, leaving little electric trails in the wake of her touch. “It’s okay… we’re going to take you home.”


	8. Chapter 8

Mitchell had lost count of the number of times he’d longed for just this sight – his friends, standing here in front of him, ready to rescue him from the endless hell his existence had become. In all his desperate, feverish fantasies of salvation, however, there was one thing he hadn’t expected to feel, an emotion that overwhelmed him at the raw shock and horror on their faces.

 

Shame.

 

“Mitchell?” Annie’s voice trembled as if she might be on the verge of tears, as she slowly crouched down beside him, reaching out a shaky, uncertain hand.

 

Mitchell cringed away from them, feeling sick. He hated what he’d been reduced to, and he hated that George and Annie had to see it. He wrapped his arms around his bruised, bleeding torso, shaking his head slowly in denial. Somehow, for his friends to be here at all, in his dark, cold prison, made it all so much more real.

 

“It’s all right, Mitchell,” George assured him in a hushed, shaky voice, resting a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s all right. We’re going to get you out of here, all right? We’re going to take you home.”

 

Mitchell didn’t respond, just kept his eyes closed, his face turned away, as George tried the chains that bound his wrists. He flinched at the pain to the abraded, sensitive skin that had been rubbed raw by the heavy iron shackles, but he neither resisted nor aided his friends’ efforts to free him.

 

“It needs a key,” George observed with dismay. “How are we going to get him out?”

 

“I don’t know.” Annie leaned in closer to inspect the chains, looking up into Mitchell’s blank, shell-shocked face before running a hand through his hair, her eyes damp with sorrowful compassion. “But we need to hurry. He needs to be out of here, _now_.”

 

“We all do,” George pointed out, his tone darkening as he glanced toward the door. “I can’t imagine it’ll be long before the others come after us.”

 

“Right.” Annie’s eyes widened with alarm at that realization, and she stood up straight, squaring her shoulders as she took a deep – if completely unnecessary – breath. “Okay then. Let me try something, all right?”

 

“Try what?”

 

George frowned, glancing up at her before returning his attentions to the chains, looking for a weak spot where perhaps they could be broken. A couple of moments later, however, they simply fell away in his hands, the lock opening seemingly of its own accord. George stared down at them in bewilderment.

 

“I didn’t… _how_ did I…?”

 

“You didn’t.” Annie rolled her eyes impatiently as she crouched beside him and helped to take the shackles from Mitchell’s wrists.

 

George blinked at her in confusion for a moment before understanding slowly dawned on him. “Oh. Right. _You_ …”

 

“Yeah.”

 

George sounded a little awed as he stared at her with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you could…”

 

“Yeah. We haven’t time. Hurry.” Annie was already focused on Mitchell, unwilling to waste time discussing her ever-developing powers while they were all still in danger. “Come on, Mitchell. We need to get out of here.”

 

George put his shoulder under Mitchell’s arm and struggled to lift him to his feet. The vampire’s legs were weak from disuse, and he could barely support any of his own weight; even so, the task was far easier than it should have been, as Mitchell was disturbingly light. Annie hovered anxiously around him, wishing she could do more to help. She rushed ahead to the door, peering out to see if anyone was coming yet.

 

As soon as she opened the door, the sound of distant, echoing footsteps filled the room.

 

“Quick, they’re coming!” she hissed, beckoning George and Mitchell forward as she slipped out into the hallway. From the hall, it was clear that the footsteps were coming from the direction of the way they had come. “We need to find another way out!”

 

As they hurried down the corridor, Annie rushed ahead and tried every door they reached, looking for one that would open and allow them to exit the building. She tried not to think about the very real possibility that there was no other exit, and they were just running deeper and deeper into the building and leaving themselves further than ever from freedom.

 

The footsteps drew nearer as they rounded corner after corner, until finally she glanced over her shoulder just as they rounded a corner, to see several vampires turning into the hall they’d just left. She stopped, allowing Mitchell and George to get past her before focusing all her energy and releasing a powerful gust of wind that made their pursuers struggle just to keep their footing, let alone keep up with the escaping prisoner and his friends.

 

Annie rushed to catch up with George and Mitchell, passing them and trying another door at the end of the hall. Relief surged through her as she opened the door, and bright sunlight flooded in. Fortunately for Mitchell, unlike in the legends, sunlight was not fatal for vampires – but given their current take-over mission, it was enough of a deterrent to keep their pursuers at the door, unwilling to make a scene by chasing the three of them out into the busy street.

 

Herrick had advised them all to subtlety in public - for the moment.

 

As it was, the vampire, the ghost, and the werewolf got quite a few odd looks from passersby as they hurried on their way toward their flat – but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that they get Mitchell to safety and assess the damage.

 

As they finally stumbled through the front door, Annie locked it behind them with trembling hands. George helped Mitchell to lie down on the sofa, gently running a soothing hand through his damp, disheveled hair. The trip home had taken a lot out of the weary, broken vampire, and he didn’t seem to know where he was at all. He drifted in and out of awareness, struggling weakly and fitfully against the gentle hands that helped to steady him.

 

“It’s all right now,” George assured him, though he wasn’t sure if Mitchell was even hearing him at this point. His eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, trying to convince himself as much as Mitchell. “Everything’s going to be all right.”


End file.
